DR. REED AT HOME
"NOW, father, for a nice, cosy chat. Take your favourite chair close
to the fire, and the little mother shall sit opposite to you, and,
oh, I do hope nobody will disturb us to-night!"
The speaker was Ann Reed, and the scene was the drawing-room of the
Reeds' house, on the night of the doctor's return from London. He had
dined with his wife and daughter, and, having seen his assistant and
ascertained that all had gone well during his absence, he had joined
them in the drawing-room where they had been waiting for him for the
past hour. Sinking into the comfortable chair which Ann had pulled
near the fireplace, he heaved a sigh of perfect contentment, and a
tender smile shone in his grey eyes as he looked from one to the other
of the two faces which, to him, were the dearest in the world.
Mrs. Reed was a little woman with a slight, girlish figure, and a
sweet-tempered rather than a pretty countenance, around which waved
a quantity of soft, fair hair, which made her look younger than her
years. She had been a hospital nurse before her marriage, and had
brought her husband no money, but those who knew her well declared
she was a fortune to him in herself; for she had a shrewd head for
business, and had always kept his books and managed his home most
capably; in short, she had proved a helpmeet to him in the truest
sense of the word. Now, as she met her husband's eyes, she said:—
"I, too, hope we shall not be disturbed to-night. It seems an age
since we three enjoyed a chat together, though in reality you have
been only absent from home a week. The time dragged while you were
away, did it not, Ann?"
"Yes," Ann assented; "you were very good to write every day, father,
and the cream you sent us was delicious, and arrived quite fresh."
She was standing before her father, a slight, tall figure—though
barely fifteen she was half a head taller than her mother—with a
bright flush on her cheeks, and her eyes—very like her father's they
were—shining with happiness. Though she could not be called pretty,
there was something wonderfully attractive in her face, in its frank
expression and lack of self-consciousness.
"It's pleasant to know one has been missed," Dr. Reed said, in a
satisfied tone; "and I'm glad to be at home again. I should have been
back on Saturday if I had not run against my old friend, Clement
Wyndham. He asked me to spend Sunday with him, and I was glad to be
able to accept his invitation and talk over old times. I was grieved,
though, to see how much he has changed; he looks more than his age.
Poor Wyndham!"
Ann seated herself on a stool at her father's feet, and leaned her
head against his knee. "Why do you say 'poor Wyndham,' father?"
she inquired.
"Because I am afraid life has not treated him very kindly, my dear.
He is a journalist, a clever fellow, but somehow he has not managed to
make much headway in his profession, and he has a long family—three
girls and two boys—and, I fear, rather an incapable sort of woman for
a wife. Mrs. Wyndham seems very nice, but I imagine she is a poor
manager; indeed their home at Streatham showed me that fact plainly
enough. I dined there, and made the acquaintance of the whole family—
good-looking, intelligent children all of them. The eldest girl, Ruth,
appeared very helpful; I noticed the servant consulted her about
several matters, and her father told me that she was his right hand.
She is only about your age, Ann; but there is a little worried pucker
between her brows already, as though the cares of life weigh upon her
mind. Next to Ruth in age come Violet and Madge—extremely pretty
children they are; then come the boys who are twins and very fine
little fellows indeed. The children attend day schools at Streatham;
their school bills must take a substantial slice out of their father's
income."
"Yes, indeed," agreed Mrs. Reed. "Mr. Wyndham is a journalist,
you say?"
"Yes. He has a post on a daily paper, he has had it for years in fact,
but it leads to nothing better. Being a married man with a long family
he cannot afford to strike for a larger salary, though he is most
inadequately paid for his work. He told me that he has had to stand
quietly by and see less efficient men pushed into lucrative posts
through interested friends. It must have been very hard lines for
him."
"What a shame to treat him so unfairly!" Ann cried warmly, her eyes
darkening with indignation. "Is he, then, so very poor, father?"
"Well, I'm afraid his income scarcely meets the requirements of his
family, my dear. He did not actually say so, but I gleaned as much."
"I am very sorry for him, poor man," said Mrs. Reed, her voice full
of sympathy, "and for his wife, too."
The doctor looked thoughtfully into the fire, and for a few minutes
there was silence, then Ann asked:—
"Isn't there anything you can do to help Mr. Wyndham, father?"
"That's what I've been wondering, Ann," he replied.
"You couldn't give him money or—if he would not like that—lend it
to him?"
"N-o-o. He did not tell me he was in need of monetary help. But,
perhaps, I—we might help him in some other way."
"We?" Mrs. Reed said interrogatively. "What is in your mind, Andrew?
Let us hear."
"Well, my dear, Wyndham confided to me that he is rather troubled
about Ruth, his eldest girl. She is to leave the school, which she now
attends with her sisters, at Christmas—it is only a school for young
girls it appears—and he would like to send her to a thoroughly good
boarding-school for a couple of years if he could hear of one where
the terms are 'very reasonable' as he expressed it; and I've been
thinking how it would be to have Ruth here—she would be a capital
companion for Ann—and let her complete her education at Helmsford
College. Of course we should undertake to pay her school fees and in
every way provide for her as long as she remains with us."
"Oh, father, how clever of you to think of that!" Ann cried excitedly;
"I call it a splendid plan! We should be sure to become great friends,
as she is about my age. It would be like having a sister almost. Oh,
do you think her mother and father would let her come?"
"I believe they would." The doctor glanced from his daughter to his
wife, who was looking very serious and thoughtful. "What do you think
of my plan, Helen?" he inquired.
"That it requires consideration," she replied gravely; "I daresay
it might answer, but then it might not. Don't let us act hastily
and afterwards regret it. Let us take time to think the matter over."
"You are quite right, my dear," Dr. Reed agreed. "You and I are a
great deal too impulsive, Ann; we need the little mother to keep us
in check."
Ann looked disappointed, but only for a minute, and, meeting Mrs.
Reed's glance, she smiled. She had perfect confidence that her mother
would advise what she considered would be right and for the best.
"I think Ruth is such a pretty name," she said; "and I am sure, from
the little you have told us about her, father, that she is a nice
girl. I have always longed to have a companion of my own age. Do tell
me exactly what she is like in appearance."
"She's about your height and size, and she has regular features, brown
eyes, and brown hair. I am afraid that description is not very
distinctive. What struck me most in connection with her was the way
in which all the others appealed to her about nearly everything;
really, she might have had the management of the household, poor
child! No wonder her father spoke of her as his right hand!"
"What would he do without her, then?" Mrs. Reed inquired. "Do you
think he would be willing to part with her, Andrew?"
"He is the sort of man who would not consider himself in the matter
in the least, he would think only of what would be best for his
child."
"And the mother?" questioned Mrs. Reed.
"I cannot answer for her," Dr. Reed answered dubiously; "she struck me
as an affectionate wife and mother, but I should say she is rather
a weak, undecided kind of person. Wyndham married her when she was
very young, she had but just left school, I believe. She was an only
child, an orphan, and, as she had been left unprovided for in infancy,
she had been brought up and educated by an uncle who was only too glad
to get her off his hands, as he had a family of his own. So you see
she was quite an inexperienced girl at the time she married, with no
knowledge whatever of housekeeping or the worth of money, and I fear
she is not much wiser on either point now."
"Poor soul," said Mrs. Reed pityingly; "I can understand the sort of
woman she is. The circumstances of her life have been against her.
I feel very interested in all you have told us about these Wyndhams,
Andrew, and, like you, I wish we could help them. We'll decide nothing
till Christmas, then we'll see what can be done. You must not think me
unsympathetic, but—"
"Oh, mother, father couldn't think you that!" Ann broke in. "Why,
you're always quite as eager to help people as he is!"
"Yes, indeed," agreed the doctor, "and much wiser about finding out
the best mode to set about doing it. Perhaps my plan will not be
feasible, but we'll think it over at any rate, and, as I've heard
my mother say when she failed to see her way plainly or was doubtful
about the wisdom of any step she contemplated taking, 'We'll just set
the matter before the Lord and ask His guidance.'"
"How like dear old Granny to say that!" exclaimed Ann, a tender smile
lighting up her face. "Oh, father, I wish you could have persuaded her
to pay us a visit!"
"She thinks she has become too old to undertake such a long journey,
my dear, and I believe she is right; besides, she is more contented in
her own home. Elderly people do not care for change like young ones.
She knows how welcome she would be here, but she is never so happy
anywhere as at Teymouth. You and the little mother shall go and see
her in the summer, Ann, if all's well, as usual, but I don't think she
herself will ever leave Devonshire again."
"You do not think her ill, father?" Ann asked anxiously.
"No; but naturally her strength is not what it once was. She said to
me that she thought the next journey she would make would be to her
long home. That will be as God wills; but I saw she did not wish to
leave Teymouth, so of course I refrained from urging her to do so."
Ann's eyes, which she shaded with her hand, were misty with tears,
for she was most devotedly attached to her grandmother, and the
thought that she might be in failing health caused her a pang of deep
grief. Every summer she and her mother went to stay with old Mrs. Reed
in the little cottage at Teymouth, which she had inhabited since her
husband's death. Granny was a true, noble-hearted woman, though in her
young days she had been "only a servant" as some people say—it had not
been considered derogatory for the daughters of small farmers to be
domestic servants then—and had had no education except what life had
taught her.
From her the doctor had inherited many of those qualities which had
gained him the respect and confidence of all classes in the prosperous
Yorkshire town where he had become a successful surgeon and a
well-to-do man; and when, nearly fifteen years previously, with his
wife's cordial approval, he had called his infant daughter "Ann,"
it had been with the earnest hope and prayer that she might grow into
as sweet and good a woman as the one after whom she was named.
"I am so glad you have been able to pay your mother this visit,
Andrew," Mrs. Reed remarked, after a few minutes' silence, "I am sure
she must have been delighted to have you to herself for a few days.
I often wish that we lived nearer to her."
"So do I," her husband replied. "Mother spoke very affectionately
of you, Helen," he proceeded, "and said how much she enjoyed your long
letters, and she told me I was fortunate in my wife. 'She's a real
lady, Andrew,' she said, 'if she wasn't she'd be ashamed of your
old mother, and, instead of that, she treats me as a daughter would
treat a mother, and I love her for it.' And I love her for it, too,"
he concluded in a tone so soft and low that only Ann caught the words.
"Oh, Andrew!" Mrs. Reed exclaimed, her fair face flushing rosy red.
"I shall write to her to-morrow and tell her how well Ann and I
consider you looking, she will be glad to hear that."
"I wish poor Wyndham could have a change for a few days," observed the
doctor meditatively; "he looked as though he needed it badly. He and
his family are on my mind. I shall not rest until I have found some
way of helping them. We must put our heads together, Helen, and see
what can be done."
His wife assented; and Ann's face brightened as she whispered to her
father:—
"Oh, father, I don't think you'll have much difficulty in persuading
the little mother to agree to your plan!"